Page 34 of The Blood Crown

Ven swirled the blood in his glass. Just blood. Human.

He’d refused it until he had killed the girl, but refusing it anymore seemed like an exercise in righteous damnation. He couldn’t afford to be weak here, no matter the cost. Her vacant green eyes flashed across his mind as he drank.

He would bear the weight of it for as long as he lived—all of it.

He’d been so focused on getting back to Ravenstone that he’d led them far closer to the Court of Flame than he’d ever intended. And when they’d encountered the silver sirens, he lost track of how close they strayed. And now Aurelia was in the midst of these monsters and Karro was locked up somewhere deep within this Fate-forsaken place.

There were cells far below their feet.

Ven had never seen them, but Nira had told him about the bowels of this place with tight-lipped vengeance after she'd rescued Seth. He'd been captured by Roheer during the war and for months they'd searched for him—searched for a way into the impenetrable fortress. But when Nira and her host of Wraithsfinally found him . . . the remnants of the torture they'd put him through—Ven'sfatherhad put him through.

Seth still didn’t like to speak of that time and Ven was smart enough not to push him. Whatever horrors he faced down there, he’d likely take to his grave.

Karro was no doubt being subjected to the same treatment.

Not to kill him. But to break him.

The grip on his glass tightened as he honed his fury for the male sitting beside him, sharpening it like a blade to a whetstone.

He glanced down at the silver cuffs that circled his wrists. His magick was useless here so long as he wore these damned things—a gift from the King of the Void when his father had pledged an alliance during the war.

His eyes slid to where his father sat at the head of the table, presiding over hiscourt. A farce.

This half of the Blood Folk were little more than beasts, and they fought like it too. Always squabbling over the scraps his father threw them. And his father loved it. Reveled in it. He thought it bought him loyalty and power, but all it gave him was a cage of starving dogs, serving whichever master fed them.

Valea sat further down the table, watching him.

His half-sister. She must have been the last of his father’s children, sired before magick had dwindled to nothing. Her stare was brazen and assessing, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, either.

A threat? Perhaps.

If she coveted the monstrosity atop their father’s head, he would have gladly offered it, but history had not proven kind to bastards who’d attempted to claim the blood crown over its rightful recipient. And even the ones that had managed to place it upon their heads found themselves relieved of it shortly after.

Fate had a dark sense of humor.

But it was a curse and nothing more. He should know. He’d spent most of his life in the library at Ravenstone searching for answers to the ancient power the crown possessed.

Maybe his father would kill him after all—save him the trouble of his inevitable future. He harbored no illusions about his sire’s affection, he was just another weapon to be wielded. But his gift was an anomaly—not a trait passed down from his bloodlines, just a random act of Fate. And it made him much too valuable to dispose of.

Over the course of the night, he’d already been approached by the more powerful members of his father’s court that remained, their smiles cold and calculating. But he had no leverage here. No allies. And the threat of harm to Aurelia would always be dangling over his head to ensure he’d do his father’s bidding.

Regardless of how divided this court was, no one would be willing to help the wayward prince leave, especially after what his father had done to Roheer. Whathehad done.

His gaze drifted to the floor, landing on the pile of ash that had once been his father’s fiercest general.

Roheer had led a unit of rangers so brutally effective at killing that to see a pale rider meant certain death. He'd been an advisor to the king for centuries before Ven had walked this world, and in the span of a single moment—gone.

At least the male had been smart enough not to involve his claimed in his scheming.

His father’s voice ripped him from his thoughts. “It is fortuitous that you ended up here, my son.”

Rage, cold and sharp, shot through him.My son.Only his mother could claim him as such, and he’d mourned her long ago.

“Magick is returning.” His father’s sharp eyes narrowed, unconcerned with Ven’s lack of response.

Whispers of what happened in the human realm couldn’t possibly have traveled to him—not this far, not with how isolated the Nostari were. But still, warning prickled the back of his neck. He took a sip of the blood in his glass, keeping his breath even, his pulse steady.

His father was already suspicious of Aurelia. If he found out what she was capable of—who knew what he might do. But the bastard spoke the truth. Magick was returning.

---